McDonald's
by Unsuspected
Summary: "Nico looked confused, but he grinned. 'The McDonald's. Well, thanks.'"
1. Chapter 1

Once Nico had escaped that miserable snow-covered Camp, he didn't know what to do. So, he just kept walking.

The walk wasn't very pleasant. Of course, the bitter New York wind blew toward him. Each burst of air sent another chill down his back and stunned more than sunburn. The tears that streamed down his face could have easily frozen in the thirteen-degree (without wind-chill) weather. Ever-polite New Yorkers didn't seem to feel the need to ask the ten-year-old if he needed help, or a jacket, or something. On the other hand, Nico felt lucky that he wasn't taken away by some creep or beaten up by a gang. He'd never actually been in the city, so Nico didn't know exactly what to expect. He couldn't expect to feel any better. It was impossible to feel anything other than sick-to-your-stomach anger and unbelievable depression with his sister dead. Bianca was gone, and he was on the icy streets of New York. If that wasn't a terrible way to spend the holidays, Nico didn't know what was.

Being a frozen, hungry ten-year-old boy, he entered a fast food restaurant. Florescent yellow M's could be found on every street in the city by the dozens. He took refuge in the first one he saw that had less than ten pieces of trash on the floor because be assumed that would at least have heating. It may or may not have. It was difficult to tell. Maybe the greasy fries and hamburgers (otherwise known as a five-star meal to many Americans) were the cause of the warmth. Whatever it was, the heat didn't last long. Why? Ten minutes after arriving at the place, a frustrated-looking employee arrived at the table Nico was sitting at.

"Hello, boy," the employee spat furiously.

"Hello," Nico replied casually.

"You haven't bought anything."

Nico looked at the man with hate. "I am aware of this fact, thank you."

Beady eyes glowed with frustration.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I was grieving."

The man raised his eyebrows. Then, he said, "In a McDonald's restaurant?"

"Do you know how cold it is outside?"

The man reached into his pocket, pulling out an old phone. He stared at it for a moment, and then replied. The temperature had dropped ten degrees (still not counting wind-chill). "It's three degrees, but I really don't give a-"

"I'm ten," Nico said simply. "Would you watch your language? This is a bad day, and it's best that you don't irritate me."

"Is that a threat, kid?" The employee didn't seem too educated. "'Cause if it is I'll have the police down here in a matter of minutes. Wait! You're ten. Well, that doesn't matter, kid. You either buy or get out. It's that simple. If it weren't there'd be several hobos hanging around here 24/7."

Nico swiped a chunk of his tangled black hair back. "I have no money. As I've mentioned, I am ten."

"Well, then. Get out." the man paused a moment, as if thinking about what to say next. Then, when the boy made no move to leave, he added, "And what's a ten-year-old got to grieve over anyway? Did your older sister get the toy out of the cereal box first?"

The words seemed to be quite affective. Without another word, Nico di Angelo got up from the table, and left the door, headed into the cold.

"Hello," said a cheery voice. Next to the door of the McDonald's he had just exited was someone that hadn't been there. In the short time that Nico had been in the fast food restaurant, a charitable Santa impersonator had materialized to the right of the greasy palace. Ringing a bell every few minutes, the man in costume was quite annoying.

Nico stared at him.

"Have you been good this hear, little boy?" asked the man. He proceeded to give the signature Santa laugh that is constantly abused during the holiday season.

The boy was slightly shocked. He had expected the man to ask for money, but this was a tad bit creepier.

"Good year, sonny?" the man in red continued hopelessly. "Is there anything you're wanting this Christmas?"

Suddenly, Nico turned around to face the man. Tears threatened to spill over. There was someone he'd like for Christmas. He wanted his sister back. "Yes," Nico said plainly.

Santa seemed surprised by the response. "Yes?"

"That is what I said."

"What?" the man continued hopelessly. "What do you want for Christmas, boy?"

Nico felt sick. Bitter tears flooded down the boy's face. Nico couldn't hold them back any longer. "Bianca! I want my sister back! She shouldn't have died! It should have been him! Not her! He deserved to die! She didn't! Bianca should be alive! She should be alive. She deserves to be alive! But she isn't! She's _dead._ All because of him, she's dead. Can you get that for me? Can you undo that for me? Can you get my sister back? Huh? Can you?"

Silence.

Dark eyes glared at the man wearing the cheap red suit. "I didn't think so, buddy, I didn't think so. No one can! All I want is her to be alive. All I want is to talk to her! That's all I want. Can you give that to me? No. So. Just. Leave. Me. Alone." The final words come out in a whisper that seems louder than the city itself.

The man continued ringing the rusty bell, turning mindlessly from one direction tithe other. When his eyes again met Nico's, he spoke. "Take the money in here," he said, gesturing to the reddish bucket to his left. "Buy some food. Clear your head, okay kid?"

Nico followed the man's advice. To tell the truth, the boy expected to be stabbed or shot while reaching for the change and dollar bills that cluttered the bottom of the bin with peeling paint. He wouldn't have minded, honestly. It would have been relief. It would have meant joining her. There was no need to fear death. It would simply be a release from the current torture he was being put through, also known as his life.

"Okay, dude. Thanks," he muttered, stuffing the money into his pockets.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Ditto." And Nico walked back into the restaurant he had been kicked out of.

The Santa mumbled something that Nico didn't hear: "Just like me, Son of Hades, just like me."

* * *

**AN: So, I think this will be just three chapters. I always did find Nico fascinating. He's a very interesting character, so I highly doubt I portrayed him correctly, and if I did, I'm positively shocked. I got this idea from writing down a zillion things I wanted to know. One of them was how Nico decides, "Hey, I'll just throw some fast food into this pit and see what happens." I wrote it down as a story idea, and pulled it out of my envelope of terrible potential stories. So, if I ever write something strange, assume it came from there. Anyway, here's an addition to my story overload this weekend.**  
**-Lexi**


	2. Chapter 2

Once again, the welcoming smell of grease greeted the boy.

Sadly, the employee did as well. "You're back, kid."

Nico looked rather amused. It was a cold sort of smile that appeared on his face in place of his formerly regular childish grin.

"You're back," the man repeated stupidly. He seemed to be the stereotypical New York fast-food guy—broke, idiotic, and living with his mom, not paying for college, a house, or something respectable.

""Yeah," Nico said, "it was pretty cold out. It still is, actually." he stuffed his freezing fingers once more into hid pockets.

"I hope you have money."

Nico nodded calmly. He pulled out a fistful of coins, counting each one. Finally, after adding the total amount of change in his hand he said, "Menu?" His eyes moved up to the neon board above the counter. "Ah, I see it."

He proceeded to order a one-dollar burger (he prayed there wouldn't be any of the shiny silver foil on it), fries, and a coke. Fine dining, Bianca would have said.

Oh, how he wished she could still say that. He'd give anything. She just had to come back. One more chance to hear her voice, one last chance to hold her hand was all that the boy wanted. Nico just wanted to see her one more time.

"Where's your family, cheapskate?" the man asked, clearly annoyed by the child's lack of spending a fortune on the ten-dollar salad or something equally ridiculously priced.

Nico's dark eyes grew wide. They glared at the man. Endless hate was burning in them. Where was his family? Where did they go? Where were they? All of them were gone! The only person he'd ever had was Bianca. Now, even she was gone. It took every bit of strength Nico had left not to burst into tears right there, but he was more dignified than that. "You shouldn't be asking. You should be working. Maybe visit some other customers. You seem to be paying slightly too much attention to me specifically." He spoke boldly, each word surprisingly well-pronounced, despite the fact that there was an ever-growing lump in his throat. Every letter was prounced clearly and sharply, like glass.

The man's beady eyes unfocused for a moment, confused. "Mhm," he muttered. "Maybe I should."

The demigod nearly jumped. The voice was different, though Nico couldn't exactly place how.

The man disappeared for a moment, only to return again, carrying a plastic tray with four overly large cups of soda and just as many Happy Meals. "For you," he mumbled dizzily.

Obviously, Nico was startled by the sight and proclamation that these were his. "I didn't order those."

The employee looked shock for a minute, sick for another, and finally, relieved. Recovering, he looked down and mimicked a happy tone. "You're our one millionth customer!" More surprising than that still, was the confetti he threw into the air, faking joy.

This seemed rather unbelievable. He recalled someone at Westover describe this scene with a forty-year-old buyer and a teenage worker. Also, the boy was well-aware that McDonald's had well over one million customers. He briefly considered that this branch alone had reached one million customers, but he doubted it. Most likely, it was some sort of scam.

Another person was lying to him. It was just the thing to make him feel better. (Please take notice of the sarcastic tone of that last sentence.)

Apparently, the employee noticed that Nico was wearing an expression of disbelief. However, words seemed to fail him, so Nico was left staring blankly into the echoing New York restaurant.

After the last fading vibration of the man's phony shouts of joy had died out and an awkward silence fell over them, Nico spoke at last. "Why should I believe you? This is New York. This is McDonald's. It's full of shady people, scammers." He no longer sounded like a ten-year-old. His cheery, carefree voice was replaced by a growl. His attitude mirrored this perfectly. Now the change was even more noticeable due to the dark words that didn't feel like they belonged in his mouth.

Obviously annoyed, the man said, "Just go back outside. Try not to come back." And he shoved the tray at the startled boy, who stumbled out of the door.

The Santa was still there, ringing his annoying bell more loudly than Nico would have thought to be possible. Now, he had another companion. Ironically, it was the tallest man Nico had ever seen, dressed in green and red cloths with a lopsided hat. The "elf" (which clearly deserves quotes because it was merely being called one, but did not reflect the title) was quite the sight to behold, not only because of his height, but because the costume was unquestionably meant for someone more proper for the role; it was several sizes too small for the towering companion.

The bell kept ringing, and for the first time, Nico saw something about it he wanted to erase. The bell was silver, Shiny, new silver. Pure silver. Just like the Hunters, just like her. Silver. Just like the stars. Beautiful silver. Just like the color the shroud she never got would have been. Metallic silver. Just like her last sight—blood, oil, and metal. Perfect silver. Just like the figurine she died to have, the figurine she died to have for _him._ The figurine he'd left behind.

The rusty, red bucket echoed the same words, the same message. Silver were the coins that were scattered on its bottom. Many were unfading and perfect, like he had last seen her. They sang the same song he had heard before, of shining stars and figurines. Others, however, were faded, dirty, and imperfect. A chill went down Nico's back as he got an awful idea. That was how the aura around his sister looked as she finally died. Fading and sickly. He didn't want that. Slowly, the idea crept up on the boy. Maybe that ugly nickel from 1922 was the same color as the light around his sister as she took her final breaths.

A high-pitched voice broke the trance he was in. "Are you all right, kid?" It was the elf.

He wasn't. "I'm great," he lied. "Why wouldn't I be?

The Santa nudged his companion. "Right. Well, remember this, kid, if you've lost someone, you can always get back to them."

Nico was horrified. "What do you mean? I'm supposed to kill myself? I mean, I want to see Bianca, and sometimes I feel like just putting an end—"

He was cut off. The men smiled identically. "Talk to your father."

Nico, being awful at keeping anything quiet said, "You mean my _father_, like Ha—"

"Or just use the McDonald's."

Nico looked completely confused, but he grinned. "The McDonald's. Well, thanks!"

* * *

**AN: Yes, the mystical power of McDonald's. Sometimes those city-folk are really puzzling. I would know. A few things I would like to point out: I have nothing against fast-food employees, the food itself (though I can't say I find it delicious in the least), or New Yorkers...or New Yorkers (or people of any other city) dressed as Christmassy figures. It may have seemed that I did. For a moment I thought of Fred and George with the sentence "The men smiled identically." I have no idea why. It was just awkward in my head... Anyway, I'll get the next chapter up eventually. Thanks for reading!  
-Lexi**


	3. Chapter 3

There was some sort of understanding behind the befuddlement, a type of rough comprehension. Nico had an idea, a crazy idea that had no more foundation than what he was just told. He had no real reason to believe that it was a good, logical solution, but he had every reason to try it. What was there to lose? His sanity perhaps, but he suspected that it had already fled.

He walked off from the McDonald's.

An alley that even cats and gangs seemed to avoid was a couple blocks away from Nico's original place, far enough to avoid suspicion, but close enough to return if something went wrong. It seemed like a decent enough place to begin, so he did. A patch of worn-down grass (apparently even pavement stayed far from the area) was muddy, covered with grayish sludge and litter. Nico figured it was his best option, knelt down, and started to dig with his fingers (he figured that matters of sanitation were not his concern at this point).

Unfortunately, the wind blew the bitter-cold wind blew toward him, adding to the discomfort. He cursed under his breath, continuing the task, eventually trying to use the plastic tray as a sort of shovel (it didn't work).

Finally, Nico had a decent-sized hole. He didn't exactly know what decent-sized was, due to the fact he had no idea what he expected to happen, but Nico decided that it would have to do. He poured seventy-five percent of the soda into the ditch, as well as the Happy Meals. For good measure, all four toys were thrown into the lake of bubbling brown pop and soggy food.

He wiped his hands (however pointlessly), and got up from the slushy ground. He began speaking words in another language, Ancient Greek, but he didn't know how because Nico hadn't learned a word of it, nor heard it. When the words were over, he spoke again, this time in a more familiar language, English. "Bianca di Angelo," he said softly. "Show me my sister."

Silvery wisps of what appeared to be a sort of magical smoke came from the boiling pit. A songlike whisper tickled his ears, but he couldn't understand the sound. All he understood was that Bianca was not coming back. All because of him Bianca was not coming back. All because of Percy Jackson's broken promise; his sister was gone forever, always out of his reach. She was dead. Dead. Undeniably dead. He hated it. He hated him. He hated her. He hated the thing that had killed her. He hated their father. He hated the Santa, and his stupid elf. He hated the man at McDonald's who gave him the food. All of them! He hated every last one of them. All of them were awful, terrible, stupid, horrible, mean, jerks! Even her. Her for leaving him all alone. She's at just as much fault as the others. She let him stay behind. She went into that _stupid_ robot, risking her _stupid_ life, all for _stupid_ Percy Jackson, his _stupid_ friends, and that _stupid_Hunter. And she'd never be back again. And it's her fault, it's his fault, it's everyone's fault. He's all alone and it's all their faults.

His sister's sweet voice speaks again to the boy. "I'm sorry, Nico, I'm sorry." They're the same words that she spoke to him last, but fresher and more tearful.

But it's not her, he reminds himself angrily. It will never be her. She's gone. She's gone, and she'll never be back. She'll never say that again. She'll never say anything again. And she's gone.

He thought it would work. He was sure that's what the Santa had meant. He was positive. "Eat the McDonald's" would have been pretty lame advice, not to mention illogical. But maybe that was it. Nico doubted it, though. The Santa was probably just some crazy dude that wanted to get Nico out of his hair. So, with that happy thought in his head, Nico settled into the icy corner to eat the food that was quickly losing warmth.

As he quickly tried to reopen the red box (why did he even bother to close it?), Bianca's voice filled his ears yet again. Another wisp of silver stirred in the pit.

"Don't hold grudges, Nico," said her kind voice. She'd never said that before, Nico was sure. Not once in her short, short life had Bianca spoken those words.

Nico officially announced himself insane. Hearing her voice was one thing, replaying words she had actually said over and over again in his mind, but coming up with imaginary phrases was another entirely. Even further proving his theory that Nico had broken was that he replied to the pretend voice. "But," he murmured brokenly, "but, Bianca, you're dead, Bianca." He said her name too often because the sound of it made him hopeful. "You're dead!"

The silvery smoke tickled his chin. Yet again, Nico's sister talked to him. "Yes."

"And it's his fault. He should die! He should! He deserves to be dead a thousand times more than you do, and he's walking around alive! He's just going on living his life, all while you're dead!"

Bianca didn't respond.

Nico wondered if it really was his imagination. Yet another sign of madness for Nico to put a bright red check mark by was accounted for; he was now considering the possibility that he wasn't crazy, and that his dead (he still didn't like the word) sisiter was speaking to him. Wonderful. Now he was no better than the Santa, or the McDonald's employee. He was just another mindless, freezing person on the unforgiving city streets.

He murmured something else in the unfamiliar language of Ancient Greek, which he assumed was a curse. Apparently, it wasn't. For the third time, silver danced in the brown pit of food. This time, it twirled itself into a semi-recognizable shape. It was a hand. A soft, misty hand was extended toward the boy. In its palm was something else. Oddly enough, the hand was holding a small figurine. A fragile silver toy (though Nico would slap you if you referred to it in that disgraceful way) was standing on the once warm surface.

And, of course, it had to be _that _figurine.

And that was _her_ hand.

* * *

**AN: I said I'd do three chapters, yet here I stand, with a story marked "In Progress". I'm such the liar. Hopefully, I'll finish with four, and be able to get back to the story I was supposed to be working on. Ahem, the story I _am_ supposed to be working on.  
-Lexi**


	4. Chapter 4

And he was sure of it. He was so sure of it that it hurt. There's no question. That hand was the very hand of Bianca di Angelo.

He reached out to touch it. He expected to feel the same warmth he had when she was alive. Or maybe they'd be dry and cold, like his. They would feel like her hands, though. He thought that would be the case. Nico was wrong. The second his fingers met the silvery set, the image moved swirled, passing right through Nico. Foolishly, he tested the same with the metal figure. Just like his sister's hand, it slipped way from the boy's touch, as slippery as oil. What else could he expect? And, if he was to be honest, one hundred percent truthful, what else did he want? It would have been cruel to have been allowed touch of something so plain, so unimportant, but not permitted to feel his sister's warmth once more. It would have been an insult, a sort of terrible joke. So, it was actually preferable to have been deprived of touching the silver figurine. That would have been saying, "Just as she thought, you know. That's just what she thought. This Mythomagic piece is more important than your ever seeing her again." It would have been saying, "She threw away her life for this, and for a good reason. She died so you could run your hands across one of the last things she would touch, this metallic statuette of a god." The message would have been as clear as ice—but that wasn't the best comparison, seeing as the ice here was an ugly soot color, rather than transparent—and Nico wouldn't like the message in the least.

Nico found that he didn't have much of an appetite after seeing this, despite the fact that the closest thing he had had to a meal during this (he couldn't think of a word) _incident_. Who would? No one said, "Well, I just saw my dead sister's hand—just her hand—reaching out toward me, holding a toy. Well, that was fun! So, how about some McDonald's? That will be pleasant!" That idea was insane as the event itself. There was still the red package and evilly vibrant-colored cup sitting in the sludge surrounding him. What was he to do with this extra meal? It would be stupid to throw it away—even a ten-year-old boy knew that it would be idiotic to waste food that would normally cost about five dollars, money that he didn't have to spend. He could hardly eat it. Odds were, he'd throw up at his first or second bite; the food had become far worse during the journey and wait. There was, Nico supposed, one other option that would _possibly_ help him. _Maybe_ there was another use that could _perhaps_ be beneficial to the grieving boy. He could, he guessed halfheartedly, throw it into the pit as well.

So, he did. It wasn't nearly as much as he first dropped into the hole in the earth, and the first contributions had mysteriously vanished from the premises, causing no notice whatsoever by the boy until now. As a result of the small quantity of food put into the grave-like pit, what little meal there was stuck, soaked and pathetic, to the ground. It looked most pitiable, and from this angle, Nico pondered how the restaurant could pass this for a proper meal; it looked much smaller from a few feet above. The drink didn't even rise an inch above the bottom, but instead made a dumb-looking puddle that blended in rather unpleasantly with the dirt. Despite its ugly appearance, Nico stood reverently over the food, and began chanting in a voice he had heard—and used—once before, but was nothing at all like his own.

"Άφησε τους νεκρούς να αυξάνονται και πάλι, με δόξα. Ας τους αφήσουμε να νιώσει ξανά, γεύση και πάλι. Έχω έρθει με μια θυσία των τροφίμων. Θα το δώσει σε αυτούς, και τους επιτρέπουν την ελπίδα της ζωής και πάλι," he spoke, placing some sort of meaning in the words. He made it out to translate to something about the dead rising again, feeling and tasting as they did in life, and a bit about his "sacrifice".

Instantly, a line formed at the pit. It was, as he had both expected and feared, made only of figures silvery and mist-like, with not a single solid being in there. As soon as he appeared there, a ghost at the front of the line greedily began drinking the coke and eating the soggy fries.

Nico raised an eyebrow. For a moment it was one of pure confusion, but it quickly shifted to something else. Just as soon as the expression hit his face, he realized something. It was both a good and frightening feeling. You_ should be the one controlling _them_, and _they_ should be serving _you_, _a snakelike whisper hissed. It was a scary, evil-sounding voice, but Nico almost found that he liked hearing it. He reacted in a way that mirrored his feelings toward it.

"STOP!" he commanded loudly, scaring himself nearly as much as the spirits he directed it at. Scanning the crowd for the familiar face of his sister, he cursed after reaching the end of the line, finding no one that looked remotely like her. "Where are you?" he screamed. "Bianca! Where are you?"

He spirits took advantage of his distraction by resuming the eating of the McDonald's.

Nico noticed. "Stop it! Stop! All of you!"

They did as they were told, however reluctantly. There was a murmur of anger among the ghosts, all no doubt upset at being summoned for nothing.

"Can't you see? I'm looking for someone! I'm looking for my sister! In case you haven't noticed, I want to see her again."

One brave soul piped up. "Master—" he squeaked.

Nico raised an eyebrow again, this time remaining in question. "Master?" he echoed in curiosity.

"Yes, Lord. Master. You are a son of Hades, are you not? And your sister a child of the rich one, as well. Am I correct?"

Nico surprised himself by nodding, but the second the action was made, he knew it was the truth.

"And, sir," said the same ghost, "we must respect you and your sister, for your father is, after all, the lord of the dead," the spirit squealed nervously. "And, as I'm sure you noticed—" he laughed—"we are dead."

Nico smiled slightly. Maybe Bianca was happy being dead.

That jerk. She could be happy, but not Nico… She could have fun, but not Nico! Nico was deader than she was. His soul had been torn to shreds because of her, but she was perfectly happy dead! Life, apparently, was worse than death.

Well, that was rude. Nico realized this, and tried to throw it from his mind; he would not tarnish her memory by thinking those awful things about his sister, she was a good person, and would be remembered as such.

Even if she did leave him alone.

"Master?" called the ghost. "Master?"

Nico looked up. He almost apologized. Instead, he changed the subject. "So, can you help me?"

The spirit seemed quite as surprised as Nico had moments ago. "Me, sir? Certainly not me?"

Nico smiled again, almost cheerfully, but almost bitterly as well. "Yeah you," he said, looking the ghost straight into its lifeless eyes. "C'mon, then. Go ahead. I'll get some more food. You can have this." His tone was almost as friendly as it had been before all of this demigod business. It quickly turned sharp as he addressed the others. "The rest of you—scram!"

And, so McDonald's had become a ritual.

* * *

**AN: Tada! it's complete. After ages and ages of procrastination, it's done. I might change my mind, but that's unlikely. (Then again, I may just eat my words someday soon.) Could you tell me what you think of the ending, and the story as a whole because I'd really love some feedback on that. If anyone would like to tell me, that'd be fantastic, but I'm not forcing you to even review. I'm just thankful for every reader I have! So, thanks. I'm dead-awful (no pun intended...but while we're on this topic, do you get it, or is that just me?) at endings. So, thanks again, and maybe I'll see you soon...not literally, as in on fanfiction, as in I read your stories, or I publish something else (and I have an idea!), or something like that. Well, that was awkward.  
-Lexi**


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